Another Reason to Cry

I had Aurelia's ears pierced today. She was pleasantly distracted during the pre-op; nothing seemed amiss to her. My stomach did somersaults and my eyes widened as the moment I had asked for drew closer. I know people have pierced the ears of much younger babies, and maybe it was silly for me to be so emotional. Nonetheless, I held her in my arms and cringed when the piercer instructed me to pin her arms down while simultaneously holding her head still against me. Everyone reassured me that the pain didn't last long, the crying would cease with the first (or at least the second) distraction. The sounds that emerged from my baby's wide-open mouth wrenched my heart. The first ear done, and her face is beet-red, tears and drool streaming down her howling cheeks. She remained still for the second ear, focused almost solely on the painful delivery of the first. When I was finally able to turn her around and give her a hug, my love did not provide solace; instead she looked at me with those wide, wet eyes with judgment. Luckily, she reserved most of her year-old animosity for the piercer. I did cry; quiet, crocodile tears that showcase how pathetic I am about protecting this child as well as the hormones raging within my veins.

As consolation, she was offered a pink lollipop and delighted in the sticky red residue covering her skin and clothes. The real trauma occurred when we tossed the remainder in order to preserve the pristine nature of her carseat.